


Chicken Soup for the Demonic Soul

by MrsMoosie



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Canon Compliant, Chicken Soup, HMCWTIYS, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nudity, Post-Apocalypse, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:49:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28876728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsMoosie/pseuds/MrsMoosie
Summary: Aziraphale is planning on an evening of drinks with his longest friend one hot summer evening. Upon arrival it appears the evening would be taking quite a turn when Crowley answers the door in a disheveled state of sick.Written for @usedtobehmc’s HMCWTIYS contest!
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 94





	Chicken Soup for the Demonic Soul

**Author's Note:**

> I chose the second picture in the contest for this... And I’m planning on writing a second fic just for funsies because gosh @usedtobehmc your amazing pieces I can’t help myself. 
> 
> Something about couch snuggles wrapped up in a blanket reminds me of warmth and care, which is Aziraphale’s cup of tea for sure. Even if the weather outside is swelteringly hot, a little cuddle can work wonders. 🥰 Please enjoy!

“Oh, bugger.”

It was July, nearly ninety degrees Fahrenheit in London, Soho as Aziraphale stepped outside of the bookshop. He wrinkled his nose against the humidity, a hand raising to loosen his bowtie. He felt like he could easily start sweating straight through his coat and looked down, questioning his choice of clothing for the day. He considered that perhaps his favorite coat was actually _not_ appropriate for the summer air, and with a quick turn he went straight back into the bookshop to hang it up. He lingered just a moment at the coat rack, eyeing the hat that had been hanging there for ninety years. It caused his mouth to curve into a fond smile. Cream, gold brimmed… He’d had it since the 1940’s. The perfect reminder of the day his books and life were saved. More importantly, a reminder of the day that he realized so many more important things that were happening right before his eyes.

Each new thought that day was focused solely on Crowley. How terribly kind he was, how deep down very chivalrous he was. Saving him from discorporation was kind. But saving his books, protecting the very thing that Aziraphale had cherished for centuries? He’d unearthed that day just how hard he’d fallen in love with Crowley. Today was no exception to the rule, either. Crowley had given him a call, asking him to come over for drinks. Aziraphale would be aghast to decline such an invitation. 

Brown and tan oxfords stepped out onto the pavement once more, and a snap locked up the shop. It was a bit of a walk to Mayfair, but it would allow Aziraphale to procure a bottle of wine along the way and perhaps something to nibble on. He felt a bit exposed without his coat on, with only a shirt and his waistcoat hiding his body. It felt unfamiliar, but on the other hand he was much cooler already. The sun beating down on his shoulders reminded him a bit of Eden, and most of the time he’d spent in Africa and the Middle East. He pulled his hat down over his eyes and held his hands primly in front of him as he began to walk. Crossing the street, he started forward passing the small shops and restaurants he’d come to know and love so dearly. He found it simple to navigate the busy streets of Soho, even with so much pedestrian traffic. It was comfortable, and Aziraphale did love everything there was about comfort.

He stopped by a shop for a mid priced bottle of red, and decided to select a bottle of Laphroaig scotch for good measure. The shop sold nibbles as well, so he plucked up a large bag of crisps, and a small cheese and cracker tray. Aziraphale paid, and holding the small canvas bag he’d procured he continued his walk. He held a hand in his pocket and hated to admit there was an extra bounce in his step. He was on his way at last to Crowley’s flat like Little Red Riding Hood. Unlike the fairy tale, there was no occasion. There really was no other reason whatsoever for them to get together aside from just _wanting_ to. Aziraphale felt his heart begin to race a bit as he paused in the middle of the sidewalk.

He found himself standing in front of Crowley’s building. His heart was slamming in his chest. His palms were sweating. He hated to say this feeling was familiar, though it really hadn’t happened in some time. Aziraphale knew exactly the last time he felt this way was, and it was not a fond memory at all. Standing around the corner in an alley, watching Crowley speaking with a gentleman outside of a strip show… He’d felt jealous, eyeing the young man he was speaking with so casually, but he’d also felt like this: Nervous. 

Aziraphale straightened himself out and, with a nod, entered the building. He had to pull himself together, as he always did before seeing Crowley. He’s a friend, a good friend that shared excellent drinks and good laughs with him. That’s all, right? So what if they saved the world together and helped to defeat Satan himself? So what if they cried over nearly losing one another. There was still a pain in his chest thinking of that damned bandstand. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to go there again. Watching Crowley leave him was the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life, and that pain _burned_. His eyes had been brimming with tears, his nostrils flaring, his throat closing… Aziraphale had never once cried before then. The feeling had been overwhelming, and he’d dropped to his knees to sob after Crowley was far out of sight. After discorporating though, when he’d come to Crowley at the bar, he couldn’t see him but he could hear. He knew just how devastated he was. He said he’d lost his best friend… 

_Knock Knock Knock._

His voice then had been hoarse, and pained- full of a different sort of suffering-

Aziraphale’s body went rigid and his eyes widened. Suffering- He could feel it through the door. Inside the flat, there was intense distress and pain. Something was dreadfully wrong.

 _Knock Knock Knock_. “Crowley? Crowley is everything alright in there?”

Silence… Deafening silence, that made Aziraphale’s heart slam against his chest and his nerves turn into electric wires. That misery was able to radiate through the thick stone door, he gave a silent prayer that the worst wasn’t happening.

“Crowley please, can I come in? Something is wrong, I can feel-”

There was a click of the door unlocking and Aziraphale watched nervously as the handle turned. It was like something out of a scary movie as he watched, waiting with baited breath, unknowing of what to expect. The door pulled in, slowly- but without the creak of a haunted house. Aziraphale watched and gasped as it finally opened fully. His bag was dropped to the ground. Luckly, nothing broke and no crisps were harmed. His hands came up to cover his mouth.

Crowley stood looking like death- Not… the real one, mind you. His face was ghastly pale, and looked as if it needed a shave. His eyes were watery, heavily lidded, with dark circles underneath. He could hardly hold himself up. A loud ‘sniff’ from his nose indicated something was _very_ wrong, and when he finally spoke Aziraphale was sold.

“Hey, Angel.” He said. His voice was hoarse, croaky, and sounded painful to be used. 

“Oh my, Crowley! What- I just spoke to you this morning, what’s happened to you?”

“Tha was _yesterday_ we talked. I shoulda called but I was asleep.” Crowley mumbled out, “I got a human…” His hand waved over, indicating his body and he quickly shoved his face into his elbow, coughing, “Thing.”

“My word.” Aziraphale realized that he maybe got a bit caught up in a recent reorganization due to the heat. Some of the older scrolls and books had to be relocated into the newly created basement, where a specially made space had been added to help regulate the temperature and humidity for his poor tomes. At least he’d made it on the right day. Aziraphale bent down and grabbed his bag, making his way inside. He slipped his hat underneath his arm, freeing his hand to give a snap to close the door and lock it behind him, “Straight to bed with you.”

“Mm… No, I’m okay.” Crowley grumbled, reaching for the bag like a zombie, “Gimme the scotch, alcohol kills the… the things.”

“I’m not giving you- How do you know I even have scotch?”

“You always bring me scotch.” Crowley gave a lopsided grin and found himself leaning closer. Suddenly he was bent in half and his head laid on Aziraphale’s chest, eyes closing.

“Cro- Crowley?!”

“Gimme.” Crowley whined, reaching for the bag in a pathetic display.

“You certainly are a demon.” Aziraphale rolled his eyes, tilting his head to the side, “Look. I’ll give you the scotch, but you _have_ to go to bed, alright?”

“Fine.” Crowley grumbled from Aziraphale’s torso. His arms gave up and hung down, a loud sigh escaping his chest,, “You’re _very_ comfortable.” He mumbled, breathing becoming deeper the more tired he got. Aziraphale swallowed and lifted a hand to pat the top of his head. He tried to tilt just a bit to the side to see if Crowley was even awake, but it was too far.

“C’mon you wiley thing. Let me take you to bed.”

“Heh… Buy me a drink first, Angel.” Crowley stood up, looking as if he _were_ in fact, drunk. He winced, gathering his footing and began to slump his way through the flat to his bedroom. Aziraphale gave thanks that he was off of him, and gave his body a quick cross before setting his hat down beside the door. He kept his bag with him, following after the gangly mess of limbs and disheveled hair.

“Crowley, how did you even get like this? We can’t get human illnesses. Are you sure you’re alright?” 

Crowley made it to the bed and face planted onto his pillow, groaning.

“Can’t get away with murder… So they made me suffer like this.” Crowley said- but each word was muffled by the pillow his face was buried in. Aziraphale took a quick moment to translate.

“So instead of leaving you alone as they said they would, they are making you very uncomfortable and erm…” Aziraphale raised an eyebrow, waving a hand before him, “All of this, because you destroyed that demon?”

“Mmhm.”

“Seems logical.” Blue eyes rolled in annoyance.

“ _Angel…_ ” Crowley whined. He scooted himself up onto his bed, tucking his knees up underneath his body in a ball. He kept his face planted into his pillow, perfect to whine even more into. Crowley was, if nothing else, becoming an expert at whining.

“Right. Well, let me get you something to make you feel better, then you’re going to sleep.”

Crowley stayed quiet in his awkwardly curled up position on his bed. His eyes had finally closed, yet his breathing was ragged and obstructed causing him to snore. He’d fallen asleep, and Aziraphale wasn’t exactly sure how that happened in such an awkward state of… Well laying. He supposed that it all came down to what was comfortable when feeling this way, and sticking with it. Aziraphale held his canvas shopping bag tighter and, with a sigh, he left the room. 

There was no kitchen in Crowley’s flat. He had somehow removed it to make the flat far more spacious than he’d ever needed. None of it made a lick of sense, as the flat was practically bare save for a few select artifacts that he’d picked up through the years. It was the polar opposite of Aziraphale’s shop, but it was just another reason that Aziraphale’s corporation was doing this nervous dance. It was _Crowley’s_ flat. Every inch of every room, no matter how sparse, was filled with something more than the naked eye could see. Each artifact had a very unique back story. There was a pot that they had drunk from in Ancient Egypt. There was the painting from his dear friend Leonardo da Vinci of the unfinished Mona Lisa. He’d received it the same day they’d had their own paintings commissioned. Aziraphale set his bag down on the desk, glancing up- and froze.

He’d never noticed it before, but there at the end of the hall… It was the Eagle. It was from the altar at the church, from 1941. Aziraphale wasn’t sure how he’d missed it, but when the church blew up it seems Crowley saved it. He’d brought it home, from a _church_ nonetheless, and set it out for all to see. Aziraphale felt his cheeks warm to a soft pink, the realization of what that could mean was overpowering. Such a sentimental piece, a beautiful reminder of that night. For Aziraphale it could only hope and pray it meant love. He wondered what feeling and reminder it could have Crowley of that night. What could have spurred him on and caused him to want such a thing in his home?

Crowley kept a religious artifact like that, but had no sort of food, drink, or even alcohol unless it was miracled in. Unfortunately, that was exactly what Aziraphale was going to have to do. He picked up Crowley’s telephone, and started to make select calls. Satisfied with his quick thinking, he took a seat in Crowley’s not so comfortable chair. Within the next hour, several things happened. 

First and foremost, Aziraphale whipped himself up a cup of tea. If Crowley was sick, there was no sense in drinking the wine or liquor alone. The poor demon needed comfort, and someone to take care of him. Someone to see him through this horrid human plague that he was working through, even if it happened to be just one of their little colds. 

Next, quite a few different delivery drivers came to the door with bags of groceries and various supplies. Having read several books on modern medicinal properties due to the uprise and variety in viral disease, Aziraphale had some sort of idea what exactly would be required for the comfort of the demon sleeping in the other room. Even if it was more than likely outdated, it was better than nothing. 

Lastly, there were several items miracled in to increase the comfort of the flat for Aziraphales impromptu stay. A couch, a small table, several blankets, and an impressive stack of books were added to the space just outside of the bedroom. It wasn’t, strictly speaking, a small miracle. Aziraphale was thankfully being left alone though, which meant he had no limits. He hoped this was the case, anyway. He wasn’t going to test those waters any time soon, but a couch seemed an absolutely necessity.

He stood at Crowley’s desk, supplies spread out before him, and got right to work. 

Aziraphale decided to put together a tray for Crowley of various home remedies he’d read about. He broke apart a scone and began to find himself actually _liking_ this sort of human domesticity he was experiencing. Taking care of Crowley like this- even though it was unlikely to ever happen again in the future- was nice. Crowley had always come looking for him during Earth’s six thousand years, and he’d especially doted on Aziraphale for the last four or five hundred. There’d been countless times the demon had come to his aid and gotten him out of a jam. In 1793 during the French Revolution, he’d shown up in the Bastille to get him-

Aziraphale nearly dropped his knife as he spread jam on a scone. 

Why _was_ Crowley there? He’d received commendation for job performance but… Was that even for the French Revolution? He’d said it wasn’t even his fault, but he said that about everything. Maybe it was praise for the American Revolution? There was quite a bit happening that century, he seemed to have lost track. Must have been the French… Right? Aziraphale let it slide and continued his food preparation. 

He got lost in thought as he found the container that held chicken soup and added it to the tray with the scone. Tea, not coffee, was in a cup that Aziraphale had brought in himself. He wouldn’t make Crowley use one of those styrofoam things if he didn’t have to. Satisfied with his spread, he stood back and smiled proudly. 

“Guess that’s not _too_ bad.” He nodded to himself. 

“Deera…” A stuffy voice called from the other room. Aziraphale turned toward it, eyebrows furrowed together.

“Deera? Who’s- Oh, right.” He grabbed the tray and began walking toward the room. Aziraphale hadn't realized that now an hour and a half had gone by since Crowley laid down to rest. He was horribly congested and ‘Zira’- well, in anycase _‘Deera’_ was as good as he was going to get out of Crowley at the moment for a name. ‘Angel’ must have been too hard to manage.

“Hello there! I come bearing gifts.” Aziraphale beamed, walking into the room. Crowley was on his back, blankets pulled up to his chin. His head was tilted back toward the ceiling and his eyes were shut, focusing on his congestion.

“Scotch?”

“Erm… No.” Aziraphale winced, “Chicken soup, tea, and a scone. I thought you may feel better after eating something. A full stomach, the steam from the soup and tea can help with your nasal congestion as well.”

“Deera… Miracle my face bedder…?” Crowley pleaded. Aziraphale stood beside the bed and offered a soft smile, setting the tray down.

“Not sure that’s possible. If you have a human ailment that Hell has given you, it’s seemingly unlikely I’d have any power over it. Besides,” Aziraphale set himself down on the edge of the bed, “You don’t feel any remorse for that poor demon?”

They both looked at one another in the silence that followed the question. Aziraphale knew as soon as he’d said it what the answer would be. Crowley rolled his eyes and shoved the blankets down, sitting himself up.

“Crowley! Oh, good Lord.” Aziraphale jumped and turned away. His face was instantly a dark red, eyes closing in embarrassment of what he’d seen.

“What?”

Aziraphale waved his finger in Crowley’s general direction, “Put- Put some clothes on!”

Crowley looked down and realized what the panic was about. He’d fallen asleep, and gave a snap at some point to make himself more comfortable. Apparently, becoming completely comfortable was not fixing his ailment, no. It was making himself completely naked.

“Ah… Dorry.” He sniffled out. He gave a wave and comfortable sweatpants were added. The blankets were pulled up over his lap, and two tired eyes looked to Aziraphale, “Got too comfy, I guess.”

“You guess.” Aziraphale turned back, “Up against the headboard, let’s get you settled.”

“Mm not gonna eat.” Crowley hunched over, wincing, “Everything hurts.”

“It’ll make you feel much better, I promise.” Aziraphale offered a smile. He leaned over and touched Crowley’s leg to get his attention, head tilting to the side, “C’mon. Do it for me?”

Crowley’s eyes widened in shock at the touch. His entire body tensed, and even though his throat hurt, he swallowed hard. That hand on his leg… His skin burned like fire except for that spot. It felt… It felt _better_. It was cool and soft, even through the blankets Crowley could tell that touch was different. It was something he thought he understood, but needed more proof.

“Fine.” Crowley grumbled. He shifted himself back to the headboard and fluffed up his pillow behind him, leaning back and adjusting to get comfortable.

“Thank you.” Aziraphale beamed, “Now. Do you think you are feverish?”

“Fever- Wha?” 

Aziraphale tutted and moved the tray out of the way, scooting himself closer to Crowley. His hand was up and pressed to Crowley’s forehead before he could realize what exactly was happening. His cheeks turned a deep red at the attention. That feeling came back too- soft, cool, and made a shiver run right down his spine. He leaned forward into the hand as Aziraphale kept it there a moment longer than necessary. Golden eyes closed and a hum sounded in the air. It really felt heavenly, soft and… _caring_.

“You do feel warm.” Aziraphale frowned. 

In all reality, Aziraphale didn’t actually know if Crowley felt warm or not. Crowley was a cold blooded snake. His temperature regulation was hard enough to figure out, especially in the cool London air. Crowley wouldn’t even know what an accurate temperature felt like on himself. Besides, Aziraphale didn’t know what a _human_ body felt like with or without a fever. He wasn't about to go around touching foreheads and judging if they were accurate internal temperatures or not. Aziraphale had read in enough books to know that was an option to say when checking body temperatures. Crowley’s face being red made him think he was warm- not that he knew it was just Crowley blushing from the contact. He had just assumed it was a fever, and that maybe his temperature _was_ actually high.

“I um… Could be.” Crowley sighed as Aziraphale’s hand was taken away. The tray was lifted and settled over Crowley’s lap, small wooden legs on either side held it over his thighs.

“Now… There’s your food. I have more for later, I may have erm…” Aziraphale paused and he held his hands together, fingers interlacing. His eyes averted themselves, ducking down to look at his hands, “I used quite a few miracles to make your apartment a bit more habitable for myself, I hope you don’t mind. I brought in my couch, and a few items.”

“Wha…?” Crowley looked into the soup. He wasn’t too fond of food, but at least it was mostly liquid. He felt a bit queasy thinking of eating, “How long you dtaying, Deera?” Crowley stuffed out, eyeing the scone next. Something sweet- he might be alright with that. Though he supposed he’d rather watch Aziraphale eat it.

“Until you’re feeling better, of course!” Aziraphale slowly, lifted his head to meet Crowley’s eyes, “I couldn’t leave you in this condition, you sound terrible. No offense, of course.”

“Nah… I know I dound like crap.” Crowley gave up- his ‘s’ sounds were coming out as ‘d’ and well- “Wait for _how_ long?!”

“Until you’re better. I have the couch I can read on. You know I don’t care much for sleep, so I brought some books and I’m sure I can bring even more over if I need to, and besides-”

“Deera you… Don’t have to.” Crowley nearly felt guilty. He felt like pointing fingers everywhere else but himself like he always did. It was Hell’s fault, really. Ligur came to his flat, and he _had_ to defend himself. _He_ opened the door and the Holy Water fell on his head, Crowley didn’t force him to… 

But the guilt was seeping in, seeing Aziraphale so readily willing to help him feel better even with some silly human condition that they’d never been afflicted with in their entire existence. Aziraphale was always so happy to help, to make him comfortable. To bring him soup and tea. Maybe to fluff his pillow and tuck him in under his blankets. Crowley’s imagination began to roll, thinking of the different ways Aziraphale always... He’d made him feel…

 _Loved_.

“Crowley you're awfully red again, are you sure you’re alright?” Aziraphale frowned in concern. He reached forward to touch his forehead, but instead touched his cheek. Crowley jerked away, careful not to spill anything on his lap.

“Fine!” Crowley yelped, “Just… Doup. I haven’t had it in doe long.” Crowley sniffed and picked up the spoon, hand trembling.

“Ah… Very well then. I’ll leave you to it. I’ll just be right out on the couch reading if you need me. Eat and then you can get some sleep.”

Crowley watched Aziraphale stand and walk from his bedroom. The curtains had been pulled shut over the large windows, so he was unable to see outside of the room which was annoying at best. He couldn’t see Aziraphale. He _wanted_ to see him, to watch him read, even have him sit near him so he could talk to Crowley about… About _anything_. Just to hear his voice would bring him comfort… But if Aziraphale wanted him to eat, then eat he would. 

Crowley wrinkled his nose at the tray and sighed. He started in on the soup, finding it not as bad as he thought it was going to be. The chicken was perfectly shredded and soft, the broth warm and flavorful, carrots adding in a small bit of sweetness to overpower the celery and onions. Crowley hated to admit it, but Aziraphale was right. It wasn’t too bad, and it was making him feel a bit better with every spoonful. Before he knew it, the container was empty so he moved along to the scone, then the tea. It did feel wonderful to have food in him, something besides coffee and liquor. His nasal passages felt as if they were opening, clearing out and allowing him to talk. He wasn’t sure if it was the food, or if it was something Aziraphale had done to it. He felt… _Good_. He felt comforted, warm… As if he was more relaxed then he had ever been in his long existence. Like a question that had been burning in his mind for centuries had finally been answered. 

“Angel…” Crowley muttered. He realized that he _knew_ what it was he was feeling. He knew what Aziraphale had allowed him to finally feel.

He placed the tray to the side when it was empty and plucked his blanket up, throwing it around his shoulders. Long legs were hung over the side of the bed and his feet scrunched before touching the floor. He stood, getting his bearings before padding out of the room. He stood in the doorway of his bedroom, finding Aziraphale sitting primly on the couch. He had a book in his lap- and it was one that Crowley was very familiar with.

“Angel.” He said softly. Aziraphale jumped and his head snapped up to see Crowley, standing, wrapped comfortably in his blanket.

“Crowley… How was the food? How are you feeling?”

“Alright. Food was um… Good.” Crowley looked down at his bare feet, hiding them underneath the blanket that was following behind him like the train of a dress, “Can I sit with you? Do you mind?” He mentally kicked himself. Do you mind? Of course he’d mind, he’s reading and you’re going to interrupt him, and he’s going to-

“I don’t mind at all.” Aziraphale shuffled himself over and patted the cushion beside him. Crowley swallowed, somewhat in shock that he was given permission to sit down with him… And so close.

He padded to the couch and paused, looking down at the space that he was allotted. There was a pillow on one side, and Aziraphale on the other. A pillow. A space. Aziraphale. Pillow. Aziraphale. 

“Aziraphale I need to ask you about the food…”

Aziraphale let out a small chuckle and smiled, glancing down to the book in his lap only a moment, “I knew you’d pick up on it.”

“You didn’t bless it… That was… from you. The feeling from you in there, I don’t usually feel that. Demons don’t feel _that_ thing. Why was I able to feel-”

“Because it’s for you, Crowley. You… You daft demon. You must know I’ve felt yours for years.”

Crowley’s cheeks turned a soft pink and he held his blanket tighter. Aziraphale had prepared his tray with love- and all that love was for Crowley. It had sunk into the very essence of the food that was now sitting within Crowley’s stomach, the feeling spreading through his body and fighting off the illness and negativity. 

Aziraphale had known of his feelings- of the love that he’d had. Of course he had. He was an Angel, he could feel love. He must have felt it as far back as Crowley had realized it. Hundreds of years of waiting, of wanting and wishing had finally culminated in this moment. He wasn’t sure what to do, where to go, what to say… Do they express their feelings, say the words to secure this relationship? Do they kiss? 

“Are you going to sit with me?”

“Ah. Yeah.” Crowley shuffled his body around, then lowered to sit. He was surprised when he found a strong arm wrapped around his shoulders. 

“You can put your legs up… On my lap I mean. I don’t mind.”

Crowley wasn’t about to argue. He was feeling tired. He was full from the food, from the love that was finally expressed between them. His body adjusted to the side and legs were lifted to lay over Aziraphale’s thighs, nuzzling into his shoulder. Aziraphale pulled him closer, laying the book over Crowley’s knees. 

“Thanks, Angel.” Crowley muttered shyly. A strong arm held him close, and Crowley felt his entire body light up as Aziraphale turned toward him. A gentle kiss was pressed to his forehead, causing Crowley to look up with wide, questioning eyes.

“It’s the only thing I could think of to help you feel better and… I thought it was about time. You deserve to know I um… I love you, Crowley.” 

Crowley took in a sharp breath and leaned in. He was hiding his face into Aziraphale’s shoulder, smiling bright as the damn sun lighting the room. He’d said it, and Crowley’s brain was slowly processing. Everything was somehow better, with those little words, with the warmth, with Aziraphale’s arm around his shoulders holding him so tightly. The contact that they were sharing, the kiss to his forehead were just a big bonus, the contact warming his body.

“I love you, Angel…” Crowley said quietly, looking down at the book in his lap, “You um… You made me feel better. How?”

“Well… Miracles wouldn’t work. They say the best medicine is TLC; Tender loving care. So when the drivers brought everything I um… I just put it together with as much love for you as I could muster. I’m pleased you could tell.”

“Aziraphale… That’s… Thank you.” He said quietly, looking up again, “I see you’re reading my book.”

“Mm… It seems The Extremely Big Book of Astronomy is the only book you have in your flat at all. If I remember, I brought it over some time ago but surprisingly never read it myself. I thought it’d be alright that I start there. I hope that’s alright?” 

“Mm, perfectly… I’m just gonna sleep, Angel.” Crowley curled into him and sighed. His eyes were drooping down, breathing evening out, “You’re warm and… I’ve always wanted to um… To this.”

“Go to sleep, Crowley.” Aziraphale squeezed around his shoulders, “I’ll be here when you wake up. I’ll be here as long as you’ll let me.”

“I should say sorry about the uh… Clothes… Earlier.” Crowley’s cheeks turned red and he ducked himself away. Aziraphale thought a moment- and then his own cheeks turned a soft pink.

“Oh- Well I should say it was um… Well you were only making yourself comfortable. It’s not that I really minded, honestly a bit of an overreaction on my end. You being sick you should make sure you’re comfortable no matter what state of dress!”

Crowley’s breathing hitched and he glanced up, suddenly sleep seeming so very far away and this conversation so very interesting, “You… Didn’t mind, Angel?”

“Sleep, Crowley.” Aziraphale went red in the face and coyly ducked his head down, “We’ll have all the time in the world to talk about those things later.”

“So what you’re saying is we-”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale gave him as stern a look as possible, but received a cheeky grin for it, “Sleep. I need you to rest so we can do all the things we want. Picnics, walks in the park, tour the world if you’re up for it. In this state you’re in, we can’t do anything at all. Now please…”

“Fine…” Crowley gave in with a sigh, “I guess… We can try um… I can sleep on you, can’t I? Like this?”

Aziraphale let out a chuckle, pulling Crowley impossibly closer and ducking his head into ginger hair, “Whatever you like, dear.”

He didn’t turn the page, he didn’t even bother to begin looking at the words or the pictures until Crowley’s breathing had evened out and deepened into a heavy sleep. He looked comfortable, a small smile tugging at his lips as he slept. It seemed funny to see a demon in such a vulnerable state, looking so radiant and beautiful curled in his arms. It was a sight Aziraphale hoped to get very used to, and see much more often though. He softly hummed and glanced back down at the book, wondering if Crowley had noticed the page that he’d purposely left it opened to the entire time.

Where else, but Alpha Centauri. 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on IG @mrsmoosie35


End file.
